The Walking Dead: The March Onward
by shenandoahok
Summary: Morgan and Duane see the explosion in Atlanta from a distance, and he decides to migrate north west in search of a patch of human survivors.
1. Chapter 1

I enjoyed the first season of the "Walking Dead" on A&E, and I hope that the second season will be even better. The first episode, the Pilot episode, had the characters Morgan and Duane in it, but we didn't see them anymore the entire season. At the end of the first episode, Morgan is about to shoot his wife who is a walker, but he can't do it. We get to see the emotion on his face in a way that resonated with me. All the other zombie movies turn killing zombies into a video game like scenario.

Walking Dead

(The March Onward)

Morgan and his young son, Duane sat on the outskirts of town when a large explosion sent the walkers into a frenzy. The dust and smoke blistered the sky as they watched from a small hill outside of Atlanta, Georgia. The moans, the smells, the sites—all had taken its toll on their spirits, and sometimes Morgan prayed for a quick and brutal death. If the walkers trapped him, he always kept one bullet for himself. The last thing he wanted was to return as a walker like his wife did.

He wanted the nightmare to end, but every day was a challenge to find edible food and shelter. He summed it up in one word—pain. His nose crinkled as he watched Atlanta burn and the billows of smoke flew high into the sky blackening everything. Food was scarce.

He gave his son some more sunscreen to cover his exposed, black skin and then he put the remainder over his face. If he knew anything, he knew to survive he had to live off the land on every level possible. The bug repellent, a white cream in a green tube, was almost empty, but he knew the ticks were as much of a threat as the walkers. He had to find some more repellent before one of the little critters buried its way deep beneath his skin.

They walked over to a dusty vehicle that stood in the middle of the road, and he was a little disturbed that he couldn't contact Rick, a sheriff of a small town he met nearly two weeks earlier. He hoped for the best, but the reality of the walkers dampened his spirits because Rick was just a man and the walkers were diseased and everywhere. They tattered the hillsides, the cities, and the empty roads with their awful smells and decaying flesh, but he knew his strength came from ensuring the safety of his son. He mattered. In order for him to grow into a man, Morgan mattered.

The voices of Atlanta, once a loud beacon of comfort, went silent a week earlier, and now Morgan knew he and his son needed to travel north west. His radio spit out nothing but silences, and he wanted to hear a voice, any voice so he'd know that at least one more human existed besides him and his son. It was like the world was void of life or at least intelligent life.

"We're going west now?" Duane asked.

"Yes, get in the car," he said, "Tactical all the way."

They drove into a town of about forty thousand outside of Memphis, Tennessee called Bartlet, and bodies inundated the streets. The hot sun intensified the horrid stench of dead bodies, but Morgan kept the driver's side window rolled down to listen for anything out of the ordinary. By chance (not luck) he hoped that a box of military meals was in the tank that stood quietly in the middle of the street. It had two dead soldiers on top of it with their heads blown off and several civilians with their heads crushed underneath the military war machine. Desert brown, black symbol on the side, and a gun on top of the tank made it look threatening. He could see the latch on top of the tank was open, and nothing else.

He stopped the car, opened the door, and hopped out of the driver's seat with his weapon at the ready. His son did the same thing from the driver's side, but not as smooth. He looked over at his son, and told him to cover him as he cleared the military monstrosity. Approaching the tank, he heard something move directly in front of him, and he pumped his shotgun prepared to kill anything that moved. As he inched closer to the tank, he saw a young walker no more than ten-years-old munching on a soldier on the far side of the gigantic machine. He knew if he blew off her head that that would send all the walkers running in his direction. On the ground in front of him, he saw a bloody baseball bat that he used to whack the young walker in the head. She never looked up to see the blow coming, but it didn't make it any easier for him. She's just a girl played in his mind like a musical instrument, but he kept whacking until she didn't move or groan. Minutes passed, but it felt like hours. The thick humidity and heat made the stench a lot worse than it normally would be, but he kept climbing the tank until he was at the very top. He rolled the two dead bodies on to the ground, but the thump of the last zombie hitting the hot concrete caused one of the scraggly walkers to look over at him. When he opened the latch, he caught a whiff of the dead body inside the machine, and then he heard something rattling around inside. It was dangerous. It was too dangerous to risk it. When he jumped off the tank, about eight walkers moved toward his position, and he blew the head off the leader of the pack. It was like a beacon to the other zombies. The walkers merged onto the street by the hundreds, and the father and son team hopped in their car, drove to the other side of town, and took up refuge in an old house.

They searched every hole in the old house, but couldn't find one ounce of edible food. It was the fast food generation that he had to understand because nobody seemed to have any canned goods. He boarded up the windows the best that he could, but he found out that the boards only held temporarily; but if the walkers wanted in bad enough, they would tear through the flimsy boards without a problem. They always did. Once they finished securing the house, he walked over to the kitchen sink, but no water. He tried to turn on the kitchen stove, but no gas.

"Don't make yourself comfortable," he said.

"Why?"

"'Cause we need running water and food."

Frustrated, Morgan and Duane removed the boards off the front door because they wanted to find another home with at least some food. It was obvious the town didn't have any power, but at least one home had to have some can goods. A few shotgun shells and some 9mm rounds was the only thing they had to rely on besides their wit, and it scared them. Morgan knew he needed more ammo, but he didn't know where the gun shop was located.

Once they made it out into the streets, several walkers diverged on their positions, and they ran down the street checking door after door to see if it was unlocked. As soon as they came to a small, white house on the corner, the door opened as soon as they ran up to it.

"Get in. Hurry," a young girl said from behind the door.

When Morgan stepped into the home, he saw a young, black girl no more than seventeen-years-old standing in the middle of the living room with a military style sniper rifle.

"You're the only surviver?" He asked.

"No. I got you two," she said.

He smiled. "Morgan and this is Duane."

"Shauna," she said, "State champion marksman."

"So, you make every round count?" He asked.

"That's right. It's too many of them now, but I've managed to stay alive," she said as she walked over to the window. "I've killed quite a few, but..."

"Yeah. How many?" He asked.

"The majority you see dead," she said, "I wage war from rooftops with my silencer and a box of ammo. I find a house, raid the supplies, and move on to the next. It's been like this for months."

"Any food?" Duane asked.

She walked into the kitchen, and came back with a military meal. "Been collecting these military meals over the years. Brought two with me on this trip."

"Really?" Morgan asked.

"Yeah," she said, "Share this."

"Were your parents killed?"

"Yeah. Happened quick. Too quick," she said, "They were turned before the first news report. I put them to rest months ago."

"We're headed west," he said, "North west."

"You hear of some safe place?" She asked.

"No. Maybe a pocket of humans. Maybe cooler temperatures," he said, "Don't know what we'll find."

"Probably the same here. Death."

Morgan realized that when it came to the walkers, Shauna was like the predator, lurking and waiting on rooftops sniping them one by one until she cleared every neighborhood. That explained the precision kills he saw in the downtown area of the city. It sort of shocked him that a young lady as young as her had the ability to place a round between a walkers' eyes every single time.


	2. Chapter 2

Walking Dead

(The March Onward)

Chapter Two

Gone were the family reunions, barbecues, and pretty girls in white silky dresses. Morgan had picked up a stranger, a young, female teenager with the marksmen skills of the military elite, and she didn't hesitate to shoot a walker. She decided that her hometown wasn't worth saving since all the people were infected, and Morgan didn't mind the company since Duane did very little talking. She looked over the house she had occupied, and said, "God's sending me messages to go with you."

He looked at her, and asked himself, "Is she joking? She has to be joking." If God existed, he didn't care about man or mankind. Where was God when his wife turned? Where was God when Atlanta exploded? Where was God when the United States crumbled? Morgan couldn't fathom the concept of God after seeing the world crumbled before his very eyes and losing his wife. If God did exist, he must have loathed mankind because there wasn't much left, nobody. Was mankind feeding upon itself some sign that the human race had become too greedy? The concept of God after all that nonsense didn't make any sense to him. God was madness and madness was everywhere.

His son had grown silent about the loss of his mother, and he did his best to comfort the young boy, but it hardly helped. What could help? Children needed both parents in a wicked and unforgiving world, and no world was as cruel as a world full of walkers. He knew that. Not even in his wildest dreams did he imagine one day he'd wake up to dead people roaming the streets, and America wasn't prepared for the holocaust. Nobody had food stored away for the pitiable day, nobody. Nobody had fuel rations stored away on the tragic day, nobody. The CDC didn't move fast enough. FEMA didn't have the manpower. The Red Cross was just a red symbol. It even rained on the first day. Nobody could have planned for the horrors. The first head shot was an accident before it became the normal way of life when dealing with the walkers, and everything had gone downhill since.

"My father had a theory," she said as she slowly chewed on a piece of beef jerky that she had stored in her front pocket.

"What's that?" Morgan asked.

"The Amish," she said, "Self sufficient, well put together, and isolated."

"You think they survived?" He asked.

"Maybe," she said, "The Amish, Mormon extremist, and fringes of certain right wings militias might have survived. It's hard to say."

"That's a good idea though," he said, "You've really thought about this."

"Yeah," she said, "Maybe God chose to protect them."

Why not? His mind wandered. It was like she had opened up a waterspout of information when she said that the Amish might have survived. It was feasible. It was a possibility that he needed to explore, but he didn't think a god would protect them more than somebody else's god would. The Amish knew building techniques. The Amish knew farming techniques. The Amish knew what man needed to survive and grow. It made sense. It made hope. He needed hope. Hope was the only part of insanity left in his mind.

She pulled out a map, and said, "Searched the Internet for Amish communities before the town lost power."

"Really?" He asked.

"Plenty up north, but several scattered throughout the Midwest too."

"What's the closes to us?" He asked.

"Lancaster," she said, "It's a strong Amish community according to the Internet."

Cars scattered the roadways near every major city, and it made driving at night difficult, but the team of three managed to navigate through the mazes of abandoned cars. The stench of the dead bodies was unforgettable and everywhere; and every time his nose found relief, the horrid smell of the dead returned with a vengeance. Shauna fell asleep, but Duane stayed awake the whole ride to Lancaster. He stopped short of a large field where he could see several huge houses, and two men not zombies roamed inside the gate. It was the morning. In the middle of the compound stood a large tower that stood above everything in the area.

"We're here," Morgan whispered, "Grab your weapons."

It was a warm morning, a bright morning, the kind of morning he'd use to mow the lawn if he didn't have to work. Shauna had her rifle attached to her back like a soldier, two pistols on either side of her body, and a large knife in her boot. Duane had his shotgun.

"Smell that?" Duane asked.

"Burning bodies," Morgan said as he pointed to smoke rising to the north of the compound. "That's a good sign."

By the time they made it halfway to the compound, a group of men dressed in handmade clothing made contact with them. They all had shotguns, hats, and beards with thick woolly jackets.

"Glad to see you," an older gentleman with a white beard said, "Jacob by the way."

"I'm Morgan. That's my son, Duane and that's Shauna."

"Hungry?" Jacob asked.

"Starving," Shauna said.

Not all the men were as sociable as Jacob, but nobody wanted to get too close to strangers, especially when the entire world was in chaos. Several of the men gave Morgan a few sneers, but he thought it had more to do with him being a stranger, a man of the world than his skin color. He kept a special eye on an Amish named Jeremiah Benson, a tall red headed man who grunted at him several times, and seemed to be a little too forceful with his wife and daughter. In the last walker attack, they lost eight members of their flock, but put down over thirty walkers before they made it through the fence. At least two walkers stumbled onto the compound every hour, and the sniper in the tower that set in the center of town put them down. A group of men would retrieve the bodies, burned them, and that was a daily routine with the Amish.

"Would you shut up?" Jeremiah said to his wife as she tried to ask him a question.

"It's just..."

"I don't want to hear it." He snapped, "She'll be okay."

She didn't try to say anything after that, but tucked her chin into her chest, and scurried out the tent. Jeremiah had been snotty the whole time with his family, but it wasn't clear why. Jacob said that he had two daughters, but only the one with the reddish hair showed up to breakfast, and she took a few rolls to her sister.

Jacob had mentioned several times that he thought the walkers had a tad bit of intelligence, and that the two walkers at a time were some sort of decoy. Was it possible? The question raced through Morgan's mind repeatedly because he thought the walkers were void of any intelligence. Nevertheless, when Morgan thought about the way the walkers came out in twos, it made sense that they were up to something. Jacob's assumption was probably on the money, but he was a thinker, a leader.

"We're low on ammo," Jacob said, "We're running through it faster than we can make it."

"You make your own?" Duane asked.

"Indeed," he said, "Self sufficient to the very end."

The Amish women worked quietly in the rear of the tent making food for the men as they patrolled the area and sowing up tattered and torn clothing. Women's work and men's work were as defined as grooves in the sidewalk, and Shauna crinkled her nose at the sowing and cooking, and simply said, "Point me to a patrol point?" It wasn't that she thought the women weren't doing important functions for their community, but she was a fighter, and she could read people.

"That Jeremiah is hiding something," she snapped as he walked out of the tent. "He's short with everybody."

Morgan looked up at him as he walked out of the tent, and wondered what the man had hidden in the dark crevices of his mind. The women were docile and meek and shy and only did what the men told them to do, and she hated that. The elders decided the punishments for serious crimes like rape, and many times the punishments wouldn't seem that severe to outsiders. He wondered if Jeremiah had committed some sort of atrocity against his daughters. The way he acted, the snapping over little things, the snotty attitude towards his wife was all indicators that something was off in his household.

"Now now. You're a girl," Jacob said, "Girl's work is in the kitchen."

"That was then," she snapped, "We're all soldiers now." She grabbed some old jars from the rear of the tent, walked outside, and placed them neatly on the fence.

"What's she doing?" Jacob asked.

"Watch this?" Morgan asked with a wicked grin on his face.

She stood nearly fifty meters from the bottles, placed her rifle on the ground, and grabbed her two side arms. She twirled them between her fingers like a seasoned pro, and in a matter of seconds, the jars were nothing but broken glass on the ground. She used those two pistols as if they were extensions of her arm.

"Holy snapping turtles," Jacob said, "Never seen shooting like that."

"Me either," Morgan said with a smile. "Me either."

She walked over to Morgan, and said, "I'm getting that icky feeling."

"Your time of the month?" He asked.

"No! An uneasy feeling that death's approaching."

"Maybe it's the food."

When night fall happened on an Amish compound, the only light was candlelight, a low density light that disturbed Morgan because he couldn't see very well in it. He and Duane pulled a four hour shift from eight to twelve, and Shauna was on the four o'clock watch with a man name Clyde Scott. Every hour, Morgan and his son walked the fence line searching for any walkers that might have stumbled onto the compound. He walked past Jeremiah's house several times, and noticed a lot of banging, but decided it wasn't his business what the man did in his home.

Clyde was a big man, a morbidly obese man who had problems walking the fence line, but he did what he could do. Even with the intense heat and all the work that the Amish did with farming, he somehow managed to keep his weight above three hundred pounds. All Morgan knew was if and when the walkers broke through the gates, Clyde wouldn't stand a chance of survival because he couldn't run, anywhere.

Shauna had a problem clicking with the Amish women because she felt they were relegated to a position of servitude instead of being equaled to the men. Morgan told her repeatedly that some cultures saw life differently, and today wasn't the day to take on a feminist cause, but it ate at her nonetheless. They were in a cozy little loft in one of Jacob's old barns, and as soon he laid his head on the pillow, somebody rang the alarm bell. Morgan, Duane, and Shauna hopped to their feet, grabbed their weapons, and Jacob flew through the barn door

"Walkers!" He screamed, "It's bad. Real bad!"

"Where?" Morgan asked.

"Everywhere," he snapped, "They're attacking from all sides. Damn Jeremiah's eldest was a walker too. He had the damn girl tied up in the house. "

"That explains a lot," Morgan said.

When they ran outside, an Amish woman ran in front of them with half her arm torn off from her body, and then fell to the ground. It was Jeremiah's wife, and her dress was drenched with blood, and she landed a few feet in front of Shauna. Her eyes were a golden yellow and dark circles developed under her eyes. It was evident that she had begun the change.

"Don't let me become one of them," she cried, "Kill me!"

Shauna walked over to the woman, put her pistol to the woman's head, and said, "May you find comfort in the arms of Jesus." She pulled the trigger. Morgan gave her an awkward stare, and then she looked up at him, and asked, "What?"

"So, you have religion?" Morgan asked.

"Don't you?" She asked.

The time that it would take to answer her question would have gotten them killed, but he wondered if she thought she killed in the name of Jesus. He had his doubts about her sanity; but in the face of a zombie attack, who could be sane?

They moved across the compound in a v-wedge formation, and several walkers jumped in front of them gnashing their teeth. Morgan took out the one directly to his front, and Shauna killed the other one. All they could hear was the Amish screaming in the background, but that didn't stop them from heading to the perimeter to try to keep the undead from bombarding the compound. Morgan opened fire on the walkers that kept trying to pass through the fence, but the cries of the town's people kept causing him to pause. Clyde staggered to the fence line, and a walker had torn into his stomach, but he kept firing his rifle at the walkers, but the pain on his face was noticeable and loud. He placed the butt of his weapon on the ground, and then put the barrel to his chin. When he pulled the trigger, his brains flew in every direction.

"Dad, what's wrong?"

"The people," he said, "Their cries."

"Can't help the bitten," Shauna screamed. "Gotta keep fighting or we'll die too."

Morgan continued to pop the walkers one by one, and the remainder of the mob tried to tear down the fence. Frightened, he pulled Duane and Shauna away from the wire, and it fell to the ground. They ran back towards the center of the town, and Jacob stood by himself shooting every walker in his sight.

"Follow me," he screamed.

Jacob ran to the tower, and lifted up a storm shelter door with over fifteen people crowded inside. He locked the door, and said, "Damn walkers. We didn't stand a chance."

"Is anybody bitten?" Shauna asked as she looked at all the frightened women.

Morgan looked around the room, and the majority of people inside the storm shelter were a bunch of women and children with absolutely no fighting skills. One of the women in the very back had blood dripping down the side of her face, and she had a chunk of flesh missing.

"Are you bitten?" Morgan asked.

Her red face had the fear of God in it. Tears raced down her cheeks. Her eyes were like blood. Blood drenched her blouse, and Morgan stuck his pistol to her head. She pressed her forehead against the barrel of the gun, and begged, "Lord, please take me home." The other women and children walked to the other side of the shelter as Morgan and the woman stood in the center.

His gun hand trembled because of the anguish of taking a human life, but he knew it had to be done. Everybody bit died. Everybody that died turned. Everybody that turned attacked.

"Do it," Shauna said. "She'll turn and infect us all."

"Can't we just tie her up?" Duane asked.

"This is the only way," Jacob said, "It's the only way."

"We got rope," one of the ladies said as she held it in the air.

"A walker infected Jeremiah's eldest, and she tore into his wife," he said, "That's how all this started."

Frustrated, he lowered the weapon, stepped to the side, and Shauna shot the woman in the head. It was fast. It was clean. It was brutal. The other women screamed, and Shauna said, "God, I hope you have the strength to put me out my misery if I'm infected 'cause I would definitely put you out of yours."

"How did you become so cold?" Morgan asked.

"Can't be miss prissy when the dead are walking the streets. It's either them or me and I'll choose me every single time."

The woman lay dead on the cold cellar floor, and several of the other women gently wrapped her in an old quilt. A rumbling noise—the walkers scratched at the door—startled the ladies, and some of them jumped out of fear. Morgan stood at the ready position, but the walkers never made an entry into the cellar. Thump! Shauna placed her two hand guns on the ground, checked the magazines, and looked up at Morgan. "About ten rounds left. Probably thirty or forty of them standing right above us."

"At least that," Morgan said as he loaded up his shotgun. Thump! "They're trying to break the door."

"It'll hold," Jacob said, "Maybe it'll hold too good."

"What's that mean?" Morgan asked.

"The sun will be up in a few hours," he said as he looked at his time piece. "It'll be hell on Earth in this place, a sauna."

"We won't have the strength to fight suffering through that," Morgan said.

"Then we'll have to fight," Shauna said as she looked at the other women attending to the dead body. "They'll have to fight too."

"She had a name, you know?" One of the older women said with a grimace, "Jessica Parker. Her name was Jessica Parker."

"It had to be done," Jacob said as he knelt beside the body. "May the Lord take her home."

"Amen," Shauna said.

It was a little after eight in the morning when the heat rose dramatically inside the shelter, and Morgan had pulled off his shirt. It was worse than a sauna, and sweat poured off his forehead and he unbuttoned the top of his pants to try to find some relief. The majority of the women had unlaced their dresses to try to find some comfort, but kept covered as much as possible.

"We can't stay," Morgan said as he looked up at the lock on the cellar door. "We'll have to fight our way through the hoard."

Jacob looked over at the women, and said, "Run as fast as you can."

"But..."

"Don't stop. Just run. When you feel the wind hit your face, run."

"It's strategically impossible to save all of them," Shauna said, "Facts are facts."

"We gotta try," Duane said.

"Shauna, you're the first out the door," Morgan said, "Then the other women."

Jacob climbed up the ladder, unlocked the cellar door, and opened it gently. "I see about three." Shauna climbed over him, slid out the door, and ran. Several of the other women made their way up the ladder, slid through the door, and ran. A scream sent Jacob, Morgan, and Duane up the cellar into a swarm of aggressive walkers that charged them with the speed of NFL football players, but at least eight women were still in the cellar. Morgan opened fire with his shotgun that sent several of the zombies flying backwards; and then Shauna stood on top of the old barn, and picked off the walkers one by one. Morgan saw two teenagers run for Jacob's old barn, and then shot a walker in the head. Duane and Morgan then ran towards the perimeter, but a swarm of zombies had over taken Jacob. When he looked back for him, Shauna had already put a bullet between his eyes.

"She's fast," Duane said.

"Keep running," he said as he shot two more walkers that wobbled towards them.

He heard several pops from her 9mm, and when he looked back, she swung down from the barn on a rope, and popped several more zombies in the head before she caught up to Morgan.

"Just keep running," he said, "I saw two ladies behind Jacob's barn."

"Just leave them, Dad."

"Can't do that," he said.

The walkers heard the other ladies screaming inside the cellar, and the majority of them went under the ground. He ran over to the two ladies behind Jacob's old barn, and grabbed them by the hands. They ran to the edge of the property where he had parked his car. When he opened the car's door, a walker lunged out at him, and Shauna shot it in the head.

"Did it bite you?" She asked.

"No. Thanks."

The gang looked back at the Amish compound, and Morgan didn't find any relief in escaping without any injuries. What God would allow this? It was a question he asked himself repeatedly.

"What's your names?" He asked of the women.

"Ruth Parker," the lady with the red hair said as tears swelled in her eyes. "Is my Momma okay?"

"No," Morgan simply said, "Everybody except us is dead."

She began to sob.

"Tina Thomas," the other lady with the brown hair said.

"Ruth. Tina. Go ahead and cry. Get the pain out of your system," Morgan said as he drove down the street. "Maybe we'll all have a good cry."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

(Shauna's Dream)

"All is good," Shauna said, "We saved two."

Once the little car made it on the highway, he noticed that the needle was close to empty, and he had to find another vehicle with gas soon. He wanted to find a bigger car, a car with a little more space because the Amish girl's didn't wear any fragrances whatsoever. The little car smelled like pure underarm funk; but it wasn't just Ruth and Tina with the lingering stench; everybody needed a shower. His body hadn't seen a real shower in weeks, and it bothered him because infected blood splattered his face several times. He tried to keep the contaminated blood away from any cuts, but he only knew one rule to the game: if bitten by the infected, you turned. That was the rule and that rule was the law of the land.

Shauna fell into a deep sleep; and when she had awoken, she mentioned something about a young, female soldier with a burned face who had the will of ten men. She believed that God had his hands on her, and kept her safe when the walkers overwhelmed her military unit. Morgan didn't believe any of her nonsense about God, but she even said that Ruth and Tina were alive because of God's will.

"There are thousands of souls that need saving," she whispered softly. "That's your job, Morgan."

"My job?"

"That's the job God gave you," she snapped. "It doesn't matter that you don't believe."

"I believe," Ruth said.

Several cars were scattered on the highway, and only with a little faith one would have gas and keys. He parked next to an old minivan, and it had a full tank with the keys in the ignition. It appeared to have four good tires, but a dead body sat in the passenger seat. It had a bullet in its head. It was a woman in her mid thirties, and the site of her disturbed Morgan because she was about the same age as his wife. She reminded him of his wife.

"Let me get my gloves," he said as he opened the trunk of his little car. The military black gloves were enough protection when he grabbed the decaying body, and placed it on the ground. Duane and the ladies took all the crap out of the car, put it in the minivan, and Morgan tried to start it, but it wouldn't start. He popped the trunk, looked inside, and realized that the battery cable wasn't attached to the battery. It looked as if it had wiggled lose, but he wasn't sure. He pulled out a small wrench, tightened the cable, and had hoped that would be enough to get the car started.

"Mr. Morgan! Walkers!" Ruth screamed as she pointed to the walkers creeping over the hill. Shauna stepped out of the minivan with her rifle, and said, "Hurry up. I only have five rounds left."

"Just a second," he said, "I almost got it."

"They're getting closer," Duane said as he pumped his shotgun.

"We're gonna die," Tina said.

Morgan closed the lid, and Shauna shot a zombie that stood almost directly behind him.

"Shit! I didn't see him," he said as he hopped in the driver's seat. He turned the key, but couldn't get a good grip on it. His sweaty hands slipped several times when he went to turn the key.

"Hurry, Dad!"

"Come on!" Morgan screamed as the minivan started up. He put it in drive, drove over two zombies, and rolled down the highway.

The evening drew to a finish as the minivan crossed the Ohio border, and the fuel gauge neared the empty mark, which caused Morgan a lot of mental grief. It was dark, full dark, and he needed to find a fuel source, but he feared walkers lurked in the blackness. He wanted to pull to the side of the road, take a catnap, and try to relax, but he didn't know the area. Frustrated, he slowed the minivan near a bunch of abandoned cars, and glanced over at Shauna.

When the plague first hit, Morgan had made a little tube for ciphering gasoline because he had a deep suspicion that he'd have to steal gas at some point. He had taken an old water hose, cut it, and kept it under the driver's seat of the car. "I'm gonna need you to stand guard."

"Okay."

"We gotta get some gas," he said as he pulled a rubber hose from underneath the driver's seat.

A black Toyota set on the side of the road with the trunk popped opened and deserted. It had a red fuel container in the back of it with a little fuel in it. A gallon of fuel maybe two, but not enough to stay on the road until morning. He took the tube, stuck it in the gas tank, and siphoned as much fuel out of the car as he could. When the gas squirted out of the tube, half of it went into his mouth, and he spat it on the ground. The menacing smell of the walkers hit him in the face, and he waved for Shauna to stay alert, but he looked around repeatedly, but didn't see anything. Once he filled up the gas tank, he stopped the flow by yanking out the hose, and walked over to the minivan. Shauna stood directly behind him at the ready as he filled up the tank, and then he heard her load a round.

"Something is out there," she whispered as she held onto both pistols. "Hurry up."

"Moving as fast as possible," he said as he removed the container away from the truck. "Screw this."

When he walked to the passenger's side, a walker stood directly in front of him, but he kicked him to the ground. The deranged man tried to grab his leg, but he stomped him into the ground.

"Forget about him," Shauna screamed as she hopped in the driver's seat. "We gotta go."

After a few hours of some uncomfortable sleep, he awoke to Shauna pulling into a gun shop in downtown Dayton, Ohio. It was a small building with a large sign on the front of the structure that read Clayton's Guns and Ammo. The bullet riddled building had a slew of dead bodies stacked on the sidewalk, but there wasn't any sign of life, anywhere. He looked up and down the street to see if he could spot a walker, but he didn't see any movement. The entire downtown area looked like a war zone with all the cars turned over, burned, or even worse, a charred body on the inside.

"What're we doing here?" He asked as he looked up at the sign.

"Weapons and ammo and food for the long trek," she said as she stepped out of the vehicle with her weapon at the ready. "I'd tell you that God guided me here, but you're not a believer."

"Huh? Duane. Ladies get out of the car," he said as he grabbed his shotgun. He felt a little maligned by Shauna's statement, but she had a good point—he didn't believe. She kept maps that she downloaded from the Internet in her pockets, and probably marked the locations of gun stores all over the United States. That was more believable to him than her God nonsense. Tina and Ruth walked directly in front of Morgan, and Shauna checked the door to ensure that it was open, but it was stuck.

"Is it locked?" He asked.

"It's not locked, but a rope is tied to the handle," she said.

Morgan looked around for a minute, saw a rock, and just when he went to smash the glass door, a man on the other side screamed, "Wait!" A tiny man stood on the other side of the door with a green cap on his head with no labels. His thick mustache covered his top lip, and he had a 9mm stuffed on the inner portion of his jacket.

"I'm Clayton," he said with a smile on his face. "It's really good to see another human face."

"Likewise," Morgan said as he looked around the room. The horrible stench of decaying flesh stuck to everything including the young, gun shop owner. It stuck to him like he had a dead body attached to his hip, and it caused him to be on edge. "The smell of the undead is intense."

"It's all around us," he said, "Hundreds of bodies on every corner."

"No, It's in the building," he said as he looked into the back room to see a young, female walker tied to the wall. She had slime dripping from her mouth, and a gash on the side of her face that looked as if one of the walkers nearly bit off her head. "You have a walker for a pet?"

"You're a nosey one," Clayton said as he pulled out a 9mm, and pointed it directly at Morgan. When he pulled out his weapon, Shauna had her two pistols trained on his forehead.

"I don't miss, sir."

"She doesn't either," Morgan said as he held his hands in the air about the head level.

He lowered his weapon, and began to weep. "She's my daughter."

"She's an animated corpse," Morgan said as he grabbed Clayton's pistol. "Your daughter is gone."

"They might find a cure."

"It's not likely," Duane said, "The CDC burned to the ground."

"What're you saying?" Clayton asked.

"There won't be a cure," Morgan said, "Maybe they'll eventually die off, but there won't be a cure."

He walked over to the counter, and said, "I dreamed that y'all would come with good news."

"You had a dream?" Morgan asked.

"Yeah. It said that a man, a boy, and three young women were on a mission heading north west for the Lord, and that they'll need help with food and guns."

"Your dream said that?" Morgan asked.

"Sir, the good news is that north west is the land of milk and honey," Shauna said, "You're welcomed to join us.

"I'm okay. I'll stay here."

Clayton needed to face a harsh truth: once turned always turned. Ruth, Tina, and Duane helped load the minivan with four boxes of military meals, and he gave them two more rifles with tons of ammunition. After a few hours in the shop, walkers started to flock in front of the store, as if they knew something. Shauna spent a few minutes trying to convince him that north west was the new America, but he wanted to stay with his daughter in the safety of his gun shop. She was his life. By the time the gang stumbled to the minivan, at least twelve walkers had flocked in front of the store. The gang loaded up the minivan, and the walkers charged into the store as if they didn't see the occupants of the vehicle. Clayton didn't have time to put up his rope, and Shauna and Duane leaped out of the vehicle, fired off several rounds to slow the zombies' assault, but it was too late: Clayton's screams signified his end.

"Did your God see that?" Morgan asked.

"He made his choice," she said with a soft voice. "He'd be alive if he chose the living over the dead."

Morgan flung the minivan into reverse, and hit a few walkers as they descended upon the small store, and then he charged down the road, and the anguish in his eyes was loud and acute. For several miles, he didn't say a word because deep down in his gut, he knew if they never met Clayton that he would be alive, that he would have kept the rope on the door. All he knew was that he had an aching feeling deep inside his gut that kept telling him to drive north west.

Tina, Ruth, and Duane tore into a military meal, and thought it was the best thing they had ever eaten. Shauna fell asleep in the passenger seat, and planned on driving after a few hours, but the van ran out of gas near a small town outside of Cleveland called Ranchmore. Morgan grabbed the gas can, but only had less than a gallon in it, and put it all in the tank.

It was warm, but the two Amish girls remained covered from head to toe as if it were the winter. They looked tired and weak, but they weren't prissy. They knew hard work, farm work. They knew how to take care of a field, and Shauna had made an awkward statement earlier: they know how to breed. She claimed that God's voice was in her head, and that he chose the two Amish girls to help repopulate the planet, but Morgan didn't believe.

The population of Ranchmore was around two thousand, which didn't seem like a whole lot of people until they walked the streets as zombies. One container of ammunition held two thousand rounds, and they only had six thousand rounds total. A couple of major battles with the zombies, and they would have to start conking them on the head with shovels and bats.

The gang walked side by side over to the gas station, and tried to turn on the pump for some fuel, but a scraping noise caught their attention. He unsecured the hose from the pump, and a large walker stumbled over to them from inside the station. Shauna lifted up her weapon, but Morgan told her not to fire because that would send all the walkers to their location. It was a big zombie, a zombie with a broken leg that he had to drag to walk. The sound of the fuel flowing into the red container was a relief to his mind because gas was hard to come by, and they had a long journey a head of them. Many of the fuel stations were emptied within the beginning of the zombie invasion; and when he found one that had a little fuel, he praised God.

"Now you have time for God?" Shauna snickered. "Such a hypocrite."

"Just a figure of speech."

"Let's hope he doesn't think that of you," she said.

When the walker moved too close to Ruth, Morgan took the butt of his weapon, and bashed the walker's head until it hit the ground face first.

Shauna looked over at Ruth and Tina, and said, "Even Jesus swung a sword. In a life and death situation, choose life."

"But I made a promise to never handle a gun," Ruth said with a grimace on her face. "It's a choice."

"How 'bout you, Tina?"

"I just don't know how, but I'm willing to learn."

The two Amish girls were as timid as a sunflower in the dark: heads down and eyes on the ground, and it bothered Shauna. Their shyness ate at her soul the way battery acid eats holes in clothes. Morgan told her several times that she had to be patient because they came from a different culture, a culture of servitude and low education. Ruth was only fourteen and married, but lost her husband in the first wave of zombie attacks; and then there's Tina, a young girl who had an abusive father who molested her. It wasn't easy for Morgan to pry information out of the girls, but they talked more than usual, since they didn't have the heavy hand of their community oppressing them. He didn't realize the atrocities that happened in the Amish community; and to make matters worse, the punishments were like a feather floating in the wind, and hitting against a brick building.

Duane sat up against the wall of the convenient store, and devoured some cakes like a starving child, and Tina took a liking to the soda pop. The fizzle burned her tongue, and she giggled like a school girl every time she took a swig. Ruth liked the vinegar chips, and she stuffed the bags of chips into a paper sack that she found behind the counter. Shauna was much more conservative with her selection of foods. She grabbed a few pieces of beef jerky, stuffed them in her pockets, and slowly chewed on a small piece.

"Shouldn't eat more than you need," she said softly.

"Why's that?" Duane asked.

"'Cause you don't want to be slow during a walker attack."

Shauna made a lot of sense about being slow during a walker attack, and Duane and the girls packed away as much food as possible, and didn't eat any more than they needed. Morgan decided that it was a good idea to bed down inside the convenient store, especially since he could lock it up as tight as a safe. A small shower for truckers was located in the rear of the store, and Duane was the first one to use it. Tina was the last one in the shower, and the hardest one to talk into wearing a pair of pants off the rack. It was kind of funny to Morgan because the two Amish girls looked more out of place with jeans and a t-shirt than they did in their traditional garb.

Tina was a bit bigger than Ruth, especially in the chest area, and it made her uncomfortable because her father teased her about her breast size. She folded her arms over her chest, and kept them like that most of the time. Shauna tried to talk to her about that, but it didn't help, because her abuse had a lingering effect that wouldn't be resolved anytime soon. Once she started telling Morgan about her past, she had a hard time stopping. He just sat back and listened without passing judgment on her father.

Morgan felt well rested; and when he hopped to his feet, Shauna stood against the glass door with a baffled look on her face.

"What's out there?" He asked.

"I dreamt that two soldiers needed our help." She said, "Don't know if it's a message..."

"Wait? You're telling me about that female soldier again?" He asked in disbelief.

She stared at him with a grimace, and said, "Don't expect an unbeliever to believe."

"I believe," Ruth said.

Morgan and Duane loaded up as much of the food and clothing into the minivan, and the chips gave Ruth an upset stomach. She hadn't ever eaten foods with so much salt and flavor in her entire life, and it didn't agree with her. She ran back and forth to the bathroom, and Shauna kept guard of the door with each trip.

Morgan listened to Shauna talk about a heroic, female soldier with severe scars on her face that needed their help, and she went on and on about the young woman's war record. In a vision, she had seen the soldier pulling her comrades out of a burning vehicle, and a piece of burning tarp struck her in the face, scaring her for life. He listened to her story about the soldier, and then simply asked, "What's her name?"

"Teresa Jensen," she said in a soft voice. "She's not educated, but God is telling me she has a lot to offer."

He didn't want to laugh at what she was telling him, but he knew the possibilities of running into somebody from a dream was next to impossible. All he wanted to do was load as much stuff as he could haul in the stuffy minivan, and leave. The morning sun felt warmer than usual, and the little wind that did blow was ripe with the smell of rotting flesh. He checked the tires, but the left rear wheel was a little low, so he told Duane to look for some liquid tire maintenance on the back shelf.

Shauna forced Ruth to drink something to coat her stomach, and with a little luck they'd be on the road within thirty minutes or so, but she could barely stand the taste of that generic pink stuff. She did her best to choke it down several times, but she nearly threw up twice. Tina laughed, but straightened her grin when Shauna looked up at her. Something about her commanded respect, even when she hadn't done or said anything. It was genetic.


	4. Chapter 4

The Walking Dead

Chapter Four

(The Lost Soldier)

God was the enigma, the mystery that haunted man since the beginning of time, and Morgan had lost his faith years before the zombie holocaust. When it came to the concept of a supernatural entity that resided over all of mankind, Ruth and Shauna were stones, unmovable stones, mountains. He thought back to the Amish compound, and realized that they all should have died, but they didn't. When he retrieved the two young girls from behind the barn, he knew they were there. Something pulled him in the right direction, but he didn't believe it to be God. He knew they would be safe because he didn't hesitate, or at least that was what he thought.

The sun beat against the minivan with the strength of a hammer, and it reddened Ruth's and Tina's face to the point of pain. Shauna crawled in the back for a tube of sunscreen. "Apply this on your skin."

"What is it?" Ruth asked.

"It'll protect you from the sun," she said with a concerned voice, "You too, Duane."

Ruth's sunburn alarmed Morgan, and she complained that she felt a little under the weather. He didn't know if she suffered from dehydration or what, but he parked outside a small town called Grand, Indiana. It was a stretch of land that looked like human life never set foot on it, and the grass was high. Shauna stood on the outside of the minivan while Morgan searched the area for any signs of walkers, and didn't find anything. When he returned, Shauna and the rest of the gang had already set up the camp. They were all applying sunscreen and bug propellant to their bodies, and Ruth looked sick.

"Is she bitten?" Morgan asked.

"No," Shauna snapped. Grabbing a bottle of water, she told Ruth to drink it slowly, and she did. "She's just a little dehydrated."

Something was strange, then. It was obvious that when it came to Ruth Shauna didn't hesitate to ensure her safety. She was a mother figure to all the kids, but she had her favorite, and that was Ruth. When Ruth felt sick back at the convenient store, Shauna ensured her safety the entire time. Tina offered to help, but that wasn't what Shauna wanted.

"You favor her," Morgan said.

She grimaced. "It's what God wants."

"What does that even mean?" He asked.

"The new world starts in her womb," she said.

"She's pregnant?"

"At least two months," she said, "She's the future."

It burned his ears to hear that Ruth was with a child because the road ahead wasn't going to be an easy one, especially with a group of kids. Shauna gave Tina a handgun, showed her how to fire it, and then the young girl placed it in her pants, but Ruth took a vow never to hold any weapon. When he looked over at Shauna, she stood between the minivan and a large tree, and asked, "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Morgan asked.

She stepped closer to the edge of the tree-line, and a female walker stepped out of the tree-line. Startled, Shauna pulled out her handgun, and Morgan screamed, "Wait?"

"Don't shoot?" The woman screamed.

The right side of her face had burns that stretched from the tip of her forehead to her cheek, and her clothes were tattered and soiled. She smelled badly, as bad as the walkers, like hell, but she talked.

"Are you bitten?" Morgan asked.

"No," she said, "But I'm covered in walkers' blood. I've walked among them."

He laughed at her blood covered face, but then asked, "Did any follow you?"

"Don't think so," she said, "The closes town is about four miles from here."

"'Bout how many walkers?" He asked.

"At least fifteen hundred. Might be more."

Shauna and Teresa washed off at the pond at the bottom of the hill, and Ruth lay under a huge oak tree in the shade. The girls had taken clothes from the last store that the young soldier could wear. Tina kept giving Ruth cool water to keep her hydrated. Morgan and Duane walked around the perimeter several times to ensure the zombies hadn't made their way to the area, and Teresa's existence disturbed Morgan, or it might have been Shauna's premonition about Teresa that disturbed him, or worse, a message from God through Shauna that disturbed him. In any case, the whole idea of God sending them north west disturbed Morgan, and he found everything a little confusing. He had no explanation about how Shauna knew the existence of Teresa, and that she'd have a burn on her face from an attack in Iraq.

Enough pain in a person's life numbs them, and Morgan could see the numbness in the young soldier's face. Her scarred right cheek was noticeable, but bearable, and with her long hair covering the right side of her face most of the time, the scars weren't always noticeable. He talked to her a little about her heritage; and she was born in the slums of India, adopted by Americans at the age of two in nineteen eighty-seven. The burning tarp incident that happened during a fire fight in Iraq happened in two thousand and three, and the doctors had planned on plastic surgery right before the world went sour, and the dead started walking the streets.

"I don't agree with what you do," Ruth mumbled.

"That's not nice," Tina said.

"What do you think I do?" Teresa asked.

"Kill people," she said, "You're a killer."

Teresa laughed. "No. I'm a supply clerk. That's it. My convoy came under attack when I was delivering supplies."

"But you carry guns?"

"Protection," she said, "Peter carried a sword."

Shauna walked over to Ruth, felt her head with the back of her palm, and then said, "Her fever is gone."

"Okay," Morgan said, "It's getting dark, and I'm tired."

"Me too," Shauna said.

"We need to settle down for the night, but we need to take shifts walking the perimeter."

"Duane, ten to twelve. Teresa, twelve to two. Shauna, two to four, and I'll take the four to six."

"What about me and Tina?" Ruth asked.

"You're with a child," Shauna said, "You need your rest."

The dew was thick. The fog was thicker. The morning air had a nip in it that Morgan hated as he walked the perimeter. It was four-thirty in the morning, and Morgan and Tina walked the boundary. The young Amish girl insisted that she help with all the chores, including that of a roaming guard. She had her pistol stuck into her pants on safe, and everything seemed quiet in the area. The team kept walking, and the smell of the deceased smacked Morgan in the face. That smell meant death; death meant walkers; dead walkers meant it was time to leave. He felt alarmed. The high weeds shuffled because of the walkers that pushed through the brush.

"Run!" He screamed.

"Huh?"

"Run, Tina. The walkers are everywhere."

She sped down the hill to the camp, and Morgan slowly backed up as the walkers pushed towards his location. When he saw the greenish brown eyes of the first zombie, he put a round in its head, and then took off down the hill. The entire country side came to life as if the zombies were always there.

When he arrived at the camp area, Shauna, Duane, Tina, and Teresa was back to back ready to take on any of the walkers that made it to the camp, and Ruth was already in the van.

"Get in the van," he screamed, "There're too many of them."

"What about the stuff?" Duane asked.

"Leave it," he said, "We'll find more stuff."

He flew down the road only to come to a wall of walkers in the middle of the street. He stopped the car, looked left, right, and then he backed up the minivan until he ended up back where he started. He could hear Ruth whimpering in the back.

"Damn!" He screamed, "They're everywhere."

"We'll shoot our way out of here if we have to," Shauna screamed.

"I'm with you," Teresa said.

"Hold on," Morgan said as he veered the minivan up the hill, over some rough terrain, and back up on the road. The car hit the bottom twice, and the force of the thump tore off the rear bumper. Once he hopped onto the road, he looked in his rear-view mirror to see a swarm of walkers behind him, and then a zombie jumped onto his front window from out of nowhere. He swerved into the side guard rail, and came to a sudden stop. The walker slid off the hood, onto the street, and then Ruth screamed, "Run him over."

He floored the gas pedal, smashed the walker's head, and kept driving down the street. Once he got to a clear stretched of highway, he pulled over to the side of the road to check out the minivan. The rough terrain had ripped off the bumper, and the muffler was a little loose. The rear left wheel was very low, so he looked it over, and filled it up with a can of the liquid maintenance. It was only a matter of time before he'd lose that wheel, and he'd have to change it within the next five hundred miles.

"Is it going to hold?" Shauna asked as she stood to the rear of the vehicle.

"For a while," he said.


End file.
